Tales of a Champion
by thefuryisours
Summary: Short stories about the Champion of Kirkwall and the people who accompany him/her. All will most likely contain Dragon Age 2 spoilers.
1. Legends

River Song: Hush, Sweetie. Spoilers.

I felt like making a short drabble about the end of DA:2, which I feel was so awesome it made up for any flaws the game had. Sure I finished the game at about four in the morning yesterday, so maybe I just thought it was cool because I was tired, but hey, that's what replays are for, right? Obviously some creative license was taken in this since I don't actually know how the game ends if Carver becomes a templar since he ended up a Warden in my game. I may do more drabbles if I feel like it or you guys like it.

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**Legends**

It was strange how just nine people could stare into the eyes of certain death, fearing nothing as long as they were together. Hours ago, they had to leave behind one of their own, but still they stood strong against their foes. The nine – two nobodies from a home long gone, a dwarf with a penchant for lying, a templar's widow and her new husband, a seemingly immoral pirate, an exiled elf, a delinquent prince cast out by his own family, and a slave – stood huddled together, knowing they were now so much more than what they once had been, as the templars closed in on them. Both sides were waiting their opponents to make the first move.

Varric and Sebastian had their arrows targeted on Cullen, who held his sword only inches away from the Champion's heart. Daggers in hand and sneering at any templar who made the slightest advance toward them, Isabela guarded a trembling Merrill. Aveline stood at the side her husband, Donnic, both willing to lay down their lives for a dear friend. Carver and Fenris stood on opposite sides of the Champion. Small curls of a smile formed on the corners of their lips at the irony of the situation. They were both protecting someone they had once resented and about to die for a cause neither of them believed in.

No one really knew exactly what happened next. Some say the loyal templar Carver took a slight step forward defying his commander. Others say Cullen either respected or feared the Champion too much to try to arrest her. A few even say that mind control was used on the templars. Still there are those who swear that in her eyes, the Knight-Captain saw a sheer force of will he had not seen since last he saw a woman he used to love: a mage like her, an Amell like her.

Still for whatever reason, he lowered his sword. Her eyes locked with his in understanding, and she exhaled slightly. The rest of the templars followed suit. The Champion stepped backwards slowly and then, grabbing her brother by the arm, led her team quickly out of the Gallows. Though they had once been nobodies, liars, widows, simple guardsmen, pirates, exiles, delinquents, and slaves, as they disappeared into the burning streets of Kirkwall, they left as legends.


	2. Dirty

**Author's Note: **Dear myself. Stop shipping your companions with each other. Love, Rikki.

Light Carver/Merrill flirtation. Much longer than the last story.

**

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Dirty**

"Did I say something dirty again?"

"No, Merrill, you didn't."

The pair sat in The Hanged Man, drinking. Hawke had to attend to some "very important business" and had employed her brother to take Merrill out for the night, since she had just arrived in town and according to Varric, had gotten lost twice by now. Carver couldn't help but feel that Hawke was doing something he wouldn't approve of and was using him as a babysitter to make sure he didn't find out about it.

If his suspicions were true, then he was a lousy babysitter. Merrill had by this point drunk more than he was sure a woman her size should drink. _Do elves have a higher tolerance than humans?_ He wasn't sure of that either. _Definitely a lousy babysitter. Good babysitters don't take the people they're watching to bars._

In his defense, she had asked to go there because Varric and Isabela seemed to like it, and she had taken a shine to the both of them. He hadn't the heart not to oblige her. She spoke so fast and worried so much, that he felt the need to do everything she asked.

She whipped her head around to look behind her. "People are dancing. We should go dancing."

_Except that._

"I don't, um, dance."

"Was _that_ dirty?"

"No, Merrill."

He considered explaining to her that it could have been "dirty" in a different context, but she had already hopped off her bar stool and wandered out to dance to the jaunty pub music. He watched her with a small smile. She was quite inelegant for an elf. _Or maybe that's just the alcohol. I should probably stop her before she hurts herself. That would be bad._

Standing up, he walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder, interrupting her clumsy dancing.

"We should go."

"Okay! Let's go. Where are we going to go? Ooh! We should go to Hightown! Hightown's very lovely, doncha think? Am I talking too much?"

He shook his head. "No, not at all. I was thinking we should go back to your place."

"Isabela says there's only one thing a boy wants when he says that. You said something dirty right there, didn't you?"

He tried not to grin. It was hard to conceal, though. She brought out a much more pleasant side of him. If anyone else had said that, he would have gotten defensive. "That's not what I meant. I mean I should take you home so you don't get lost or hurt."

"Okay, whatever you say, Carver." She giggled to herself as they walked out the door.

_Wait. What?_ He had no idea what she meant by that. _It doesn't matter. She's drunk. Don't._

She stumbled a few times on the way to the Alienage, and each time he helped her back up and led her on her way. As they reached her door, she giggled again, leaning against the wall and looking up at him.

"_Ma seranas, lethallin_. I think I can make it from here." Her voice had this chirp to it like a bird.

_Not an annoying chirp, like how it is in real life, but a pleasant chirp, like what poets are always talking about. By the Flames, don't say any of that out loud. You sound like an idiot._

"You're not like any girl I've ever met," he said.

_And I still manage to sound like an idiot._

"That's because I'm an elf." She tapped him on the tip of his nose before turning to fumble around as she tried to unlock the door. Once she finally did, she opened it and turned back to him one last time. "I had a lovely evening. We should do this again. Or maybe not if you're busy or just don't want to. Did you have a good time? I know I did, but sometimes just because I'm happy doesn't mean other people are–"

"Good night, Merrill," he said in a pleasant tone. "I had a great time as well. I promise we'll do it again some time."

"Oh, good. _Dareth shiral, _Carver_._"

As she closed the door, he turned to walk back to his Uncle's house. He spent a good part of the walk back, cursing himself for being such an idiot. When he arrived home, he saw Hawke sitting at the writing desk.

"Where have you been? Varric says we got enough money to get to The Deep Roads, so we're going tomorrow to tal–"

Carver just walked right past Hawke toward the bedroom.

"Hey! Where are you going?"

With a small frown, the boy turned around in the doorway, replying, "I feel…dirty."

"For the love of the Maker, Carver! If I hear one more thing about your sex life, I swear I will…"

Carver closed the door behind him before he heard the rest of the threat. He sat down on his bed and thought about his promise to Merrill.

_Maybe after the Deep Roads._


	3. Home

**AN:** Oh, hello M/M. I haven't written you in years. Fenris/M!Hawke, post-epilogue, Mage-ending fluffiness.

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**Home**

"Is this one of those days where you decide you aren't going to speak to me?"

The elf lifted his head and looked over at his lover.

"Maybe."

"Be that way."

Hawke stood up and walked away. The two warriors were in a small clearing on the mountains where they had made camp the previous night. Fenris sat upright, looking over the hills, which seemed to go on forever. It was a nice day in the Free Marches. The sky was a marvelous shade of blue and the grass, a lovely green. It felt as if the incident at the Gallows less than a month ago had been nothing more than a distant dream.

Now it was only Hawke and Fenris. Two weeks ago, Isabela had told him she was going back to Kirkwall for her ship. Leaving with her were Varric and Merrill. ("Don't worry, Hawke. Something tells me I'll be seeing you again. Wish me luck on that damned boat." "I'll write you every day, _lethallin_! I promise. I don't know how the letters will find you, but I'll still write. Promise.") Soon after, Aveline left for Ferelden with Donnic, and only three days ago, Bethany had said a tearful goodbye as she left to rejoin the Wardens.

He had wondered if Aveline had the right idea: to return to Ferelden. There was nothing left for him in here in the Free Marches or at least nothing to which he could return. Still there was even less for him in Ferelden.

"Where do you think we should go?" he called out to Fenris.

Hawke turned around to see the elf lying down on the grass with his arms folded over his eyes to block out the sun, shining directly above him. He did not answer immediately. Instead he pursed his lips together in quite thought.

"Left."

"Funny."

"I do not care where we go, though I would prefer we not travel too northward. Just because Danarius is dead does not mean I wish to return to the Imperium any time soon."

"We'll stay clear of Tevinter," Hawke muttered. He trailed off for a second. "I was thinking we travel south to Ferelden."

"Too many dogs."

"Or north east to Antiva?"

"Too many assassins."

"Or west to Orlais?"

"Too many Orlesians."

"Maker's breath, Fenris! Is something bothering you?"

"You are." The elf stood up. "Why are you so set on finding somewhere to be?"

With a frown, Hawke crossed his arms and looked at the ground, sulking like a child. Fenris rolled his eyes and sat back down near the edge of the clearing. If he were to move a couple inches forward, he would tumble right off the side of the cliff. In the distance, he could still see the towers of Kirkwall. They were not too far from home yet.

"Is it strange for you too?" he asked Hawke.

"Is _what_ strange?"

"We both are not from Kirkwall, but still it became home. I didn't realize it while I was there, but now…" He trailed off. "Varric, Isabela, Aveline. I had friends there." Chuckling slightly, he added, "I never thought I'd miss The Hanged Man."

Laughing, Hawke changed his voice to an Orlesian-accented falsetto. "But it was so filthy!"

"It _was_ filthy."

With a small sigh, Hawke sat down next to him. "I'm sorry, Fenris. I dragged you into a mess you did not want to take part in, and it got us banished from Kirkwall."

Fenris leaned against Hawke's shoulder. "You had your reasons. I do not blame you. The situation forced your hand, and you reacted. I may not agree with your decision, but I'm not holding it against you."

"So basically, you're still angry about it, but you aren't angry at me. Well, that's good to know."

"Maybe it is in my nature to dwell on the past. I put one part behind me and start dwelling on another."

"It's just – This is why I've been so restless lately," Hawke admitted. "I screwed everything up, and now we have no place to be."

Immediately, the elf leapt to his feet. "Is that what you've been brooding about?"

"You're one to talk about brooding," Hawke grumbled, as he slowly got up.

Fenris shook his head. There was a curious smile on his lips as he looked the human directly in the eyes. "I'm used to running, Hawke. I do not care where we are as long as we are together."

For once, Hawke had no clever reply. Instead, he just stood there with a dumb expression his face. He had definitely not been expecting that answer. Picking up on this, Fenris took a couple steps forward and pecked him on the lips.

"I love you," he told him, touching Hawke's face. After lingering for a second, the elf finally stepped back and walked over to where their packs were. As he picked them up, he looked over at the still dumbfounded Hawke. "We should get moving. There is much to do ahead."


End file.
